Sass and Stabbings
by Leila Secret-Smith
Summary: Dragonborn Keira Darkblade takes her adopted younger sister, Alea Spellweaver, dungeon-diving, only for Alea to get herself stabbed. The duo will just have to wait it out until their intrepid (and exasperated) husbands can come to the rescue. Oneshot. Also the product of extreme writers block and Skyrim withdrawal, so take from that what you will. T for safety.
Forsaken moans echoed through the still, dank air of the crypt. A few candles flickered weakly, casting ominous shadows on the carven stone walls. Keira's torch, dying from its prolonged use in her and Alea's investigation into the burial site, began to gutter out, heightening the dramatic shadows. Keira sat against the far wall of the small side room, her hood thrown back and her messy dark brown hair sticking to her sweaty forehead as she watched the barred door. Her dark purple eyes didn't waver as she kept vigil, watching and listening carefully in case any additional draugur came after the pair.

Alea lay on the floor with her head in Keira's lap, her fur cloak the only thing between her half-bare body and the cold stone. Her deep purple conjuration robes pooled around her waist, pulled down by Keira in order to bandage the young mage's side. A draugur deathlord had caught the Breton unawares as she had been investigating a small chest of enchanted items, stabbing her in the side before Keira could stop him. A single powerful "YOL TOR SHUL" from the assassin had rendered the undead naught more than a pile of ash, but both Keira and Alea agreed that it was best to retreat to the last fortified position they had passed.

Hence their current predicament.

Alea grimaced and shifted, one hand going to the bloodstained bandage on her stomach.

"They'd better get here soon, before I bleed out," she muttered, breaking the silence.

"You said your familiar got the message out, so they should," Keira replied, her attention unwavering. "Speaking of which, here." Without looking down, she pulled a small red bottle out of her nearby pack, handing it to Alea.

"Keira, no," The younger woman protested. "That's the last one."

"Drink it, mal briinah."

"No!"

Keira spared a moment to look sternly down at her adopted little sister. "Alea Spellweaver, that wound hasn't stopped bleeding. Take it or I will force you."

Alea scowled, but the elder's unwavering glare was too much. "...fine," she muttered, popping the cork off the top and downing it quickly. "I'll just have to learn more restoration spells so we won't get into this kind of mess again."

"You do that, briinah," Keira said in amusement, returning her gaze to the door. "In the meantime... wait." The Imperial perked up suddenly, her keen ears detecting a far off sound. "I hear something."

The sound of faint footfalls could be heard through the barred door. They didn't sound like the heavy, clumsy footfalls of the draugur, but rather smooth, lithe footfalls of humans devoid of heavy armor, perhaps even light armor. The steps came closer and closer until they stopped right in front of the barred door. Both Keira and Alea held their breath.

"Keira? You in there, Darkblade?"

The assassin breathed a sigh of relief. Onmund.

"We're both in here, Onmund," she called. "Hold for a moment, I barred the door from the inside."

Carefully, Keira removed Alea's head from her lap and stood, shaking the numbness from her legs. She threw her weight against the solid metal shelf she had pushed in front of the door, grunting as it slowly grated over the floor and out of the way. As soon as it was shoved to the side, she opened the door.

Onmund stood right in front of the entrance, a worried expression on his face. Behind him, destruction spell at the ready, stood Marcurio.

"If you have any potions or healing spells, I'm certain your wife would appreciate it," Keira said dryly to Onmund, stepping out of the way to allow the young Nord mage to see his wife. Alea smiled sheepishly and waved from her position on the floor.

"Alea!" he cried, instantly in a panic, and rushed forward.

Keira turned her amused gaze to her own husband, who continued to glance around the open hall suspiciously. "Had any trouble getting here, Marc?" She asked teasingly.

He met her eyes and rolled his own. "Of course not, you obliterated everything, my _feisty_ young wife. We should still get inside, though. There were are too many deathlord corpses back there for my liking."

The Imperial pair stepped back into the room, shutting the door firmly behind them. Onmund continued to fuss over his wife as she repeatedly protested "I'm fine, it's really not that bad, no don't use the potion of ultimate healing, it's ok, really."

Keira smirked. "Alright, mother hen," she chided, pulling Onmund back by the shoulder. "At this point, a mere potion is really no match for an expert healer. We should get her back to the college."

The Nord hesitated, looking at the (now uncovered) sluggishly bleeding stab wound.

"Yes, of course," he agreed "I'll carry her out."

Alea groaned and thumped her head on the floor. "Oh come on! I'm stabbed, not an invalid!"

"I can fashion a makeshift stretcher if you would prefer that," Marcurio offered, his smirk eerily reminiscent of Keira's.

Alea's answering glare caused the smirk to change to a full blown grin.

"You don't mind it when I carry you at home," Onmund teased, re-wrapping the bandage. "I seem to recall several times where I had to carry you to dinner because you refused to stop reading."

The Mage grinned unapologetically. "Reading trumps all, my love," she replied loftily, wincing slightly as he picked her up off the floor.

Keira rolled her eyes and pushed the door back open. "I'll stay at the head. Marcurio take the rear." She paused and gave the three of them a dry look. "And do _try_ to keep yourselves alive, hmm?"

"I _do!"_ Alea protested, affronted. "It's not my fault he snuck up on me! Blame the loot!"


End file.
